IpS 3513 
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1913 

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STAGE GUILD PLAYS 



HOLBEIN IN BLACKFRIARS 




STAGE GUILD PLAYS 
HOLBEIN IN BLACKFRIARS 



Plays and Masques 

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THE STAGE GUILD 

1527 Railway Exchange Building 
Chicago 



HOLBEIN IN BLACKFRIARS 

An Improbable Comedy by 

KENNETH SAWYER GOODMAN 
& THOMAS WOOD STEVENS 




THE STAGE GUILD 
CHICAGO 






Copyright, 1913, by 

Kenneth Sawyer Goodman 

and Thomas Wood Stevens 

All rights reserved. 



Notice. Applications for permission to perform 
this play should be made to The Stage Guild 
1527 Railway Exchange Building, Chicago; no 
performance of it may take place without con- 
sent of the owners of the acting rights. 



'm 131314 
^C!.D 364,64 



HOLBEIN IN BLACKFRIARS 



CHARACTERS: 

Hans Holbein 

Mistress Chepster, his landlady. 

Margaret, her daughter. 

Nicholas Moxon, a model. 

An Old Gentleman in Search of Prints. 

A Patron in Search of a Design for a German 

Stove. 
Thomas Cromwell, Earl of Essex. 
King Henry VHI. 

SCENE 

Holbein's studio at his lodging in Blackfriars, 
London. 

Holbein is discovered painting a portrait of the King, 
Moxon posing, Margaret sitting by, seeing to it that the 
painter does not cease work. 



MOXON. I've an itch on my nose. 

MARGARET. What of it? He'll not leave off painting 
this hour yet. 

MOXON. I tell ye both, I've a beggarly gnawing itch 
on my nose. Furthermore, I should have had my half 
gallon of beer this long time gone. I warn thee I shall 
move if I'm not paid attention to. 

HOLBEIN. Hold thy tongue, or I'll bid Meg to cover 
thy face again with the napkin. 



MOXON. Will no one bring me my beer? Will no one 
scratch my nose? 

HOLBEIN. Fve said naught against lifting thy hand. 
Thunder of God ! Scratch thine own nose and have done 
with thy talk. 

MOXON. What good in lifting my hand when there's 
no flagon of beer to lift with it. Furthermore if I 
scratch my own nose, the itch will but settle between 
my shoulder blades. 

HOLBEIN. [Putting down his brush.] Go out and drown 
thyself in beer. Go out and scratch thyself all over! 

MOXON. Vulgar man! Listen to him, Meg. It points 
what I am always saying about foreigners, — low every- 
one of them — low. 

HOLBEIN. Get down off thy throne and be damned 
to thee! 

MOXON. Aye. And when I do, thou'U not get me up 
again, let me tell thee. 

MARGARET. Thou'lt not get down, Nick Moxon. 
Thou'lt stay where thee's put. 

MOXON. Sir Nicholas Moxon, by thy leave! Vd have 
thee remember that I am a gentleman, — a gentleman 
fallen upon evil times, but still a gentleman. Further- 
more, thou hast no manners, Meg; no manners at all. 
Every night I go home and weep about thy manners. 

MARGARET. So much as lift thy leg to get ofF that 
throne and it's thy own shins thou'lt be weeping about. 

MOXON. It's thy mother I blame more than thee, lass. 
Taking a foreigner into the same English home with a 
growing girl, — to say nothing of forgetting my half 
gallon of beer. 

HOLBEIN. This is too much! Let the man go! Fm 
done with him for the day. 



MARGARET. Thou art nothing of the sort. What will 
the merchants of the Steelyard say and the portrait 
of His Gracious Majesty not finished against the grand 
dinner at the guild hall next week? 

HOLBEIN. The devil fly away with the Merchants of 
the Steelyard! There's time enough. 

MARGARET. Oh, aye, and the devil fly away with the 
ten pounds thou art to get from them, too, I suppose. 
There is still the head to do. 

HOLBEIN. Money, money, money! Always money! 

MARGARET. Yes, money, money, money. Fifteen 
pounds owing my mother, to say nothing of the yellow 
silk dress thou didst promise me for myself. 

HOLBEIN, ril give thee something better, Meg. A 
holiday to-morrow, eh! A barge ride on the river to 
see the King's procession. A holiday with flags to look 
at, and fat men in cloth of gold, and noblemen in furs, 
and proud ladies in fine clothes all decorated like a 
church on Easter. Beautiful ladies, eh.? Ha, ha! 

MARGARET. I'd rather have the yellow dress. What do 
I care for flags and fat men. 

HOLBEIN. Nay, but the King, Meg! Thou shalt see 
him, with a gold belt on him, big like the saddlegirth to 
a Flemish stallion. He's a grand sight, thy Harry of 
England, dressed in green velvet like a mountain with 
grass on it. Didst ever see the King himself? Eh? 

[Enter Mistress Chepster.] 

MARGARET. Nay, I never put eyes on him and I'm 
not like to ifl look to thee for the chance. 

MISTRESS CHEPSTER. Meg! Meg! Where's thy respect 
for Master Holbein! 

MARGARET. I haven't any. Get back to thy painting. 

7 



HOLBEIN. Thou art a slave-driver, Meg. A naughty, 
beautiful slave-driver. 

MISTRESS CHEPSTER. Aye, that thou art, Meg! And 
thou art ungrateful to the good Master Holbein. 
Think of the wonderful portrait he's done of thee all 
dressed in the clothes of the Lady Ann of Cleves, her 
that's become the King's own true and lawful wife, 
married to him only yesterday by proxy and him never 
having clapped eyes on her, they do say, but only 
taking her on the word of Thomas Cromwell, Earl of 
Essex, for the sake of alliance with the German Prot- 
estants. 

MARGARET. And it's lucky for her if he didn't see her, 
and her with dowdy German clothes on her that no 
English lady would wish to be seen dead in. 

MOXON. Aye, that's a gleam of proper spirit, lass. 
These foreigners — the things they put on their backs! 

MISTRESS CHEPSTER. But to think of seeing thine own 
face atop of royal clothes. Clothes what thou'st sat 
in thyself for the portrait of a living queen! Where's 
thy gratitude for that? 

MARGARET. I haven't any! I've been the legs and arms 
and body for too many fine ladies. I've seen too many 
faces staring at me from my own neck to care if my own 
face has got atop of royal clothes for once. Ask Nick 
Moxon there. His stomach has served for half the 
aldermen of London. Ask him how he'd like to have 
his own face painted for once. 

MOXON. God forbid! I take no pride in my face, nor 
my stomach either for that matter. It's my hands, 
my fine hands and knowing how to sit down in good 
clothes, — that's what makes me what I am, the best 
model in London. 

MARGARET. So that's what you're thinking, is it? 



MOXON. Aye, about that and the wicked impudence of 
young girls. And furthermore, my half gallon of beer 
that nobody's got me, and a devilish crick in my neck 
and the natural damned bad taste of foreigners. 

MARGARET. There's some in England with bad taste, 
too, I'm thinking, to judge by what thine Earl of Essex 
has picked us for a queen. 

HOLBEIN. Hold thy tongue, Meg. The portrait is not 
to be talked on. Go fetch Moxon his beer. 

MOXON. Now someone has begun to talk sense. 

MARGARET. I'll not fetch him his beer! 

MISTRESS CHEPSTER. Thou wilt or I wiU myself. 

MOXON. I'll move! I'll break the pose! 

MARGARET. I'll take the broom to thee if thou dost. 

MISTRESS CHEPSTER. Give me sixpence, Meg. I've 
no money in my purse. 

MARGARET. No more have I. 

HOLBEIN. Confound you all ! Beer or no beer, I'll paint 
no more. 

MARGARET. Thouwiltso! 
HOLBEIN. I will not. 

MISTRESS CHEPSTER. Peace! Peace, for the love of 
Heaven! [J knock at the door.] Would ye have all 
the world hear us brawling over beer? 

MOXON. And why not? [Another knock.] 

HOLBEIN. Hush! It may be my Lord Cromwell. 

MISTRESS CHEPSTER. Mercy on us! Come in, sir, come 

in! [The First Art Patron, an Old Gentleman, enters.] 



AN OLD GENTLEMAN. Is this where Master Hans, the 
painter, hath his lodging? 

MOXON. Send this be a man wi' a shilling! 

HOLBEIN. I am Hans Holbein. 

OLD GENTLEMAN. Thou'rt the graver of pictures? 

HOLBEIN. Ja. 

OLD GENTLEMAN. The same that wrought the Dance 
of Death in prints? [Holbein nods.] 

MOXON. Dance o' Death — 'e must be treading it now, 
the old corpus. 

HOLBEIN. [Without looking up] Meg, get for the gen- 
tleman the prints. 

OLD GENTLEMAN. And how am I to know about these 
prints, if they be the true and veritable ones? 

HOLBEIN. Meg, those prints! 

OLD GENTLEMAN. And SO many vile and false ones 
about. And I must have the set complete, every one, 
and thine own hand to it, sir. 

HOLBEIN. [Giving up in disgust and taking the prints 
from Meg.] So, so! Every one! 

OLD GENTLEMAN. Made with thine own hands, and o' 
thine own devising. Master Hans? 

HOLBEIN. Mein Gott! What can I say? 

MARGARET. The money, sir. Ten shillings. 

OLD GENTLEMAN. Ten shillings! 

MOXON. For the love of England, Meg, let him not 
get away ! 

MARGARET. Five, then. 

lo 



OLD GENTLEMAN. Fivc. [Takes prints grimly, counts 
and smiles.] A bargain! The Dance of Master Hans 
for five. The collectors of the yard shall never know. 
Ha, ha! Bargain! [Exit Art Patron.] 

MOXON. My beer! My, my beer! I had the word of 
someone that my half gallon of beer would be fetched 
for me. 

HOLBEIN. Cover his face with the napkin! [Meg 
covers Moxons face.] 

MOXON. [Under the napkin.] My beer! I will not be 
put upon in this fashion. 

HOLBEIN. Be patient, friend Moxon. Mistress Chep- 
ster will run herself to the ale house. 

MISTRESS CHEPSTER. Aye, that I will. [She goes to the 
door, where she runs into Lord Cromwelly who enters in a 
fine rage, followed by a servant.] Lord have mercy ! The 
earl himself. 

CROMWELL. Where's Master Holbein. Ah, so there 
thou art, eh.? 

HOLBEIN. I am always the humble servant to my 
Lord Cromwell. 

CROMWELL. Look ye, Master Holbein. I commissioned 
thee to go with my agent Erskine to Germany, there 
to make such drawings of the Princess Ann of Cleves 
as might serve thee in painting a portrait of her. Thou 
wast granted an audience of full half an hour. A dress 
belonging to her highness was procured for thee to paint 
from. And thou didst return to London two weeks ago. 

HOLBEIN. It was to the word exact as my lord speaks it. 

CROMWELL. Thou hadst the money in advance for 
thy work. 

HOLBEIN. Most generously, yes, my lord. 

II 



CROMWELL. Well, what hast thou done? I've seen no 
portrait. It was to have been in my hands on Monday 
last. Three times thou hast put off my people with some 
flowery excuse or other. 

HOLBEIN. I have so bad a memory for days, my lord. 
We artists, it is the nature of us to be such. I have 
explained that paint must have dryness to be moved. 
I thought it should be Monday next. 

CROMWELL. Monday last! I promised the King he 
should see it on Monday last. Three times I have 
put him off. He's become devilish curious to see it. 
I fancy there must be meddlers. 

HOLBEIN. Oh, but one cannot paint a queen without 
the last touch, my lord, like the sign-board to an ale- 
house. 

CROMWELL. Body of St. George, how much more time 
must I give thee.? 

HOLBEIN. Not an hour longer, my lord. I have her 
already finished this morning. 

CROMWELL. Out with her then. I've had a deal of 
bother on thy account and hers, too. 

HOLBEIN. [To Mistress Chepster.] Be so good as to 
uncover the portrait for my lord. [Mistress Chepster 
uncovers portrait.] 

CROMWELL. Is — is that the Princess Ann of Cleves? 
Good God, man, I — I can't believe it! 

HOLBEIN. My lord has never seen the lady? 

CROMWELL. Aye, ten years ago I saw her. She was a 
blooming, flaxen haired slip of a thing. 

HOLBEIN. Ten years are ten years, my lord. Our wom- 
en of Germany do not bear well what you call the middle 
age. I have much experience of them. 

12 



CROMWELL. But shc Can't be like this. It's wicked. 
It's against nature. 

HOLBEIN. I have nothing to do with nature. I paint 
exact to the hfe what I can see. 

CROMWELL. It's not what I expected. It's not what 
the King expects. He's in the devil of a temper. If 
he sees that face to-day it will change the map of 
Europe! 

HOLBEIN. Why must he see it to-day? 

CROMWELL. There has been talk. I tell thee he's 
suspicious of me! He's jumpy as a cat. If I don't 
show him something he's like to recall the German 
envoys and annul the marriage. If I show him this, 
he's sure to. I tell thee I'm ruined. 

HOLBEIN. I'm in sorrow, my lord, but it is not my fault. 

CROMWELL. Not thy fault! Not thy fault! It is all 
thy fault. Thou shouldst have made her more beautiful. 
Thou shouldst have flattered her to suit my needs. 
Thou shouldst have known how to please the King's 
fancy. 

HOLBEIN. I am not a court painter, my lord. I can 
only paint the truth. 

CROMWELL. Truth.? What do I care for truth! This is 
politics. The King must be satisfied till the envoys are 
out of England. He must see something pleasant, 
I tell thee. 

HOLBEIN. What would my lord have me do? I am 
not God to alter the face of her Highness. 

CROMWELL. Thou canst alter the portrait. 

HOLBEIN. But the King would know the difference in 
a short while, my lord. 

13 



CROMWELL. It is to-day that counts. I shall know well 
enough how to handle him later. He will be bound 
hand and foot. I can explain a mistake. I can smooth 
things over. 

HOLBEIN. But the verity of mine art! 

CROMWELL. Damn thine art! Without thy help Vm 
a ruined man. 

HOLBEIN. Thou dost me too much honour, my lord. 

CROMWELL. Come, as man to man, what's to be done? 
Use thy wits, Master Hans, if thou hast any. 

HOLBEIN. [Scratching his head.] Zut! thou art my 
benefactor. I must help thee. Wait! Yes! [He steps 
over and uncovers the portrait of Margaret dressed in the 
clothes of Ann of Cleves.] Dost thou see this picture? 
It is of Meg Chepster there, my landlady's daughter. 
She sat also for the body of her Highness. I have painted 
her in the same clothes out of compliment. See, the 
royal chain, the ermine collar, the order at the breast, 
all identical but the colour only. Take it. 'Twill serve 
thy turn, doubtless. Meg's a fair lass. Later thou 
canst say thy agents found me gone on a holiday and 
took by mistake the wrong picture. 

CROMWELL. Blood of Paul! Thou hast a shrewd head 
on thee. I'll take it. 

MARGARET. Nay, nay, nay! Thou shalt not! 'Tis 
mine. 

MISTRESS CHEPSTER. 'Tis our own, my lord, done for 
us in place of pay for five weeks food and lodging. 

MARGARET. Thou shalt not take it. 

HOLBEIN. Hush, for the love of God ! 

MISTRESS CHEPSTER. Fifteen shillings extra I allowed 
for the ermine collar and royal chain. 

14 



MARGARET. Half the money is mine if we part with it. 

MISTRESS CHEPSTER. And five shillings for the order 
on the breast. 

MARGARET. [To Holbeifi.] I say thou shan't give it 
away. 

CROMWELL. Be still, be still, be still! Would you 
deafen me! [To Margaret] Thou shouldst be right 
glad, girl, to have thy face pass for that of a queen. 

MARGARET. Aye, but I'm not. If thou wantest the 
picture so badly, give me two pounds for the lend of 
it, and three pounds more against thy keeping it. 

CROMWELL. Four pounds. 

MARGARET. Five. 

CROMWELL. Four pounds ten. 

MARGARET. Five, paid into my mother's hand. 

HOLBEIN. Meg, thou art a Jew. 

CROMWELL. Thou art a shrewd lass. Put out thy hand, 
woman. [Mistress Chepster puts out her hand and Crom- 
well drops coins into it.] 

CROMWELL. [To servant.] Here, lad, take this to the 
coach. [Cromwell goes to the door.] 

HOLBEIN. Fortune go with thee, my lord! 

CROMWELL. Look ye now! Not a word of this. And 
the other portrait — keep it well covered till I fetch 
it away. 

HOLBEIN. Trust me, my lord. [Cromwell goes out» 
Meg following to the door looks out.] 

MARGARET. And what if he shouldn't bring it back — 
not ever. 

MISTRESS CHEPSTER. We've the gold for it then. 

IS 



MARGARET. Gold for it! Five pounds we have. Tell 
me, Master Hans, wilt thou paint me again if — if he 
does not — 

HOLBEIN. He will bring it. Five pounds! If he had 
been born an earl — perhaps no. But my Lord Crom- 
well, he was born son of a smith. Never fear, Meg 
mein kindchen. 

MOXON. Now by the — the — the — Ye've all gone and 
forgotten my beer again. I call it downright heartless 
and unmannerly, and me so patient with an itch on 
my nose. But it's only what might be expected of 
foreigners, no souls in them, no souls whatever. 

HOLBEIN. [To Mistress Chepster, who has taken the money 
from the Art Patron.] Here, give me the tuppence, 
ril fetch the beer myself. Look to it Meg! If he moves 
whilst I'm gone, 'tis thine own fault. 

]Holbein takes a coin from Mistress Chepster and goes 
out]. 

MISTRESS CHEPSTER. Tuppence from five shillings 
leaves — 

MARGARET. Go back to thy spinning, mother. Til 
be staying here with Nick. [Mistress Chepster goes 
into the inner room., counting the money. Meg takes up 
a hunch of brushes and begins to wash them., her back to 
the room.] 

MOXON. I've a mind to give thee all my opinion of 
foreigners. Low, no hearts, no souls in them, no sympa- 
thy whatever; and furthermore I'll wager thee that this 
Master Holbein of thine will forget my beer again, or 
drink it himself most likely. Aye, that's it. I've a feeling 
in my spine I'll never get it, the unmannerly foreign dog. 

MARGARET. Hold thy prattle, hold it, I say. I'll not 
have thee slandering the good Master Holbein behind 
his back. 

i6 



MOXON. Oh, the wickedness of young girls! 'Tis plain 
to see thou lovest him, Meg, for all thy talk! Dost 
think he'll marry thee lass, eh? 

MARGARET. Shut thy trap! Where wouldst thou be 
without Master Holbein? In the gutter, most like — 
thee with a face on thee to frighten God Almighty. 
Why Master Holbein, that's kindness and patience 
itself, can't bear to sit and paint thy fat body w^ithout 
I must cover thy face with a napkin. 

MOXON. Nay, it's not my face I take pride in, though 
once I had a face that would please some of better 
blood than thine. 'Tis my beautiful hands, and knowing 
how to sit still in fine clothes that makes me what I am. 

MARGARET. "The best model in London." I've heard 
thee say it often enough. 

MOXON. Aye, that I am. Where's another like me? A 
true gentleman born to sit for thrippence an hour. 
I'm thinking of what Master Holbein would do without 
me now and furthermore, I'm thinking about the wretch- 
ed wilfulness of young girls, and the evil trickery of 
foreigners, and and — and — about my half gallon of 
beer that I'll never, never, never get. [He nods.] 

MARGARET. Go to sleep. Go to slccp. Thy beer is 
being fetched for thee. Go to sleep. 

MOXON. Aye, and I will so. But harkee, ^yhen I wake, 
if 'tis not at my elbow, I will be as a lion in anger, as a 
red, red plague upon this house and them — that's — 
deceived me with false promises. [He sleeps.] 

MARGARET. [She busies herself zvith the brushes.] Oh — 
ah — If you'd sleep more, Nick Moxon, and talk less — 

[Enter King Henry incognito. He looks much like a 
bailiff or a small tradesman. He shuts the door quietly, 
looks about him. Sees Meg, tiptoes over to Moxon. Sees 
that he sleeps, and stands looking at the portrait of him- 
self. She turns and discovers hi?n.] 

17 



MARGARET. Another man! Serve you, sir? 

THE KING. Possibly, possibly, my lass. Call Master 

Hans. {Moxon at the sound of the Kings voice arouses 
himself i draws the kerchief from his face, and stares.] 

MARGARET. He'll be back soon. Prints is it you want, 
sir.? 

KING. No. 

MARGARET. Or maybe thou'rt the man who called for 
the drawing of the German stove. Well, it's not ready. 
Master Holbein has had great portraits to make for 
great people. He's had no time for the stove. 

MOXON. [In a frightened whisper.] The King! 

KING. I know nothing of this matter of a German stove. 

MARGARET. It's as Well. I'll not have Master Holbein 
pestered with such — [She scrubs vigorously at the brushes. 
Moxon gets down, kneels to the King and is about to ad- 
dress him. Henry puts his finger to his lips, and sends 
him off. As he is about to go through the door, Meg 
looks up, sees him going and runs after him, catching 
his cloak. Moxon leaves the cloak in her hands, crying 
"Let me go!" in a smothered voice, and disappears. She 
turns angrily to the King.] 

MARGARET. See, now, what thou'st done. Nick Moxon 
gone and the portrait of his Majesty to finish. 

KING. I don't follow thee, lass. 

MARGARET. Of course not. Here's the work spoiled, 
and our model gone, and thou and thy stove — 

KING. I tell thee I never heard of this stove. I'm a 
gentleman come to see a portrait — a portrait for my 
Lord Cromwell. 

MARGARET. So! And mayhap thou hast an order from 
Lord Cromwell — 

i8 



KING. Fve the authority of the King in this matter. 

MARGARET. And thou look'st to make me swallow that ? 
when my Lord Cromwell was here but a moment ago 
and took the portrait with him. Do I look so simple, 
sir? 

KING. I'll not stand chaffering — 

MARGARET. [In a rage.] Chaffering.? Thou com'st 
with a lie about my Lord Cromwell and a lie about the 
King's authority, and not a penny for the drawing of 
the German stove, and thou'st driven off Nick Moxon, 
and how Master Holbein can finish the King's portrait, 
I know not; and I'm trying to look to things for him 
and he'll frown on me, and I can never bear to have 
him look cross o' me — him that's so gentle and lonely. 
[She weeps.] 

KING. There, there, lass! Woman's tears I could 
never endure, and I've had many of 'em, too. Here's 
a crown for thee. Let's have a smile. 

MARGARET. A smile for a crown from a stranger! 
Na'y and Holbein frowning at me .? And Nick Moxon 
gone utterly.? 

KING. I'd not cross thee, lass. What's to be done? 

MARGARET. Done! The portrait's to be done. 

KING. And this Moxon? 

MARGARET. He was sitting for the hands, — the only 
model in Blackfriars with hands like a gentleman. 

KING. I see — hands like a King's, eh? 

MARGARET. And now he's gone and Master Holbein 
will be delayed, and I've driven him so. And there's 
an hour of light left. [Weeps again.] 

KING. [Going over to her.] My hands, my lass — are 
they not white? 

19 



MARGARET. Thy hands — what if they be, and Holbein 
angry with me? 

KING. There, my lass. Put thou the cloak upon me. 
I will be silent. I will sit still and listen and wait. 
There my pretty, Td not have the eyes of thy love 
darkened. I'll serve for the King as well as another. 
Td not have thee weeping. There. [Sits in chair.] 
The kerchief, lass. Dry thine eyes. 

MARGARET. It's but fair of thee, sir, since thou mad- 
est the trouble. 

KING. Sst! Steps coming. Smile. And one thing more. 
When Holbein comes in, ask him one question for me. 
Ask him what he thought of the looks of the German 
princess. For a good friend and one willing to help 
thee in a pinch, ask him that. 

MARGARET. I'll ask him nothing of the sort. Who 
am I to be asking about great ladies.? 

KING. Ask him for me, or I — [Starts to get up and 
and take off the cloak.] 

MARGARET. I will, sir. I wiU — though it's precious im- 
pudent thou art — [Enter Holbein.] 

HOLBEIN. Here it is, lass, the half gallon thy Nick 
hath been crying for so long. I'd have fetched it sooner, 
but for the old gentleman I met in the street, the old 
gentleman that pesters me to design him a true Ger- 
man stove. 

MARGARET. Aye, the whole of London has set itself 
to waste thy time, and thou with scarce half an hour 
of light left, and old Nick asleep, still as a mouse . 

HOLBEIN. Thou'rt a good lass. I had done ill without 
the knave, for all my talk against him. I can paint 
by no other. Here, Nick, wake up and take thy — 

20 



MARGARET. Hush, hush ! 'twere foolish to waken him, 
and him with the very stillness of death on him. Get 
to thy work. There may be no need to give him the 
beer at all — and tuppence saved. 

HOLBEIN. [Sitting down to paint.] A mercenary little 
wretch thou art, Megchen. 

MARGARET. 'Tis well fot thee I am. 

HOLBEIN. He hath somehow disarranged a little the 
drapery. [Makes a move toward the King.] 

MARGARET. Nay, nay, thou'll waken him. I remem- 
ber well how it should be. [She arranges the cloak over 
the Kings knees.] 

HOLBEIN. He hath somehow lost the kingly look. 

MARGARET. He looks the same as ever to me. 

HOLBEIN. Ah, well, I must take thy word for every- 
thing, lass. 

MARGARET. [With embarrassment] Tell me, Master 
Holbein, is Germany a fair country to live in.? 

HOLBEIN. No! 

MARGARET. Are the — are the German women more 
beautiful than English women, thinkst thou? 

HOLBEIN. No, no. They are mostly — ^what shall I 
say — 

MARGARET. But not all of them.? Now this princess 
Ann of Cleves — 

HOLBEIN. Hush. I am forbidden to speak of her. 

MARGARET. But between thee and me alone — come, 
now, what didst think of her? 

21 



HOLBEIN. Between thee and me, lass — well, to be 
quite honest with thee — [^ knock is heard.] 
Hush. It may be my Lord Cromwell come back. Go 
to the door. [Margaret runs to the door, and the Second 
Art Patron enters.] 

MARGARET. Well, and thy business? 

PATRON. [To Holbein] Aha, so I've found thee> 
Master Hans Holbein, eh.? 

HOLBEIN. And since when hast thou lost me? 

PATRON. Since not ten minutes gone. We were dis- 
cussing the design of a German stove, a tile stove, 
a veritable Dutch tile stove. I gave thee the minute 
particulars of my needs in the matter. 

HOLBEIN. Ja. Holding me by the sleeve the while. 
Well, sir. I have the particulars. I have promised thee 
the design. In the meantime I have other work — 

PATRON. I had not gone a hundred paces after leaving 
thee when I bethought me of the figure of Minerva 
which should be atop of the stove. 

MARGARET. By thy leave, Master Holbein hath things 
of more importance than stoves to be thought on to-day. 

PATRON. Hath he so? Then I'll trouble him to give 
me back the five shillings he had of me in advance. 

MARGARET. Hast thou indeed had five shillings from 
this gentleman? [Holbein nods. She turns to the 
Patron.] Come back in an hour and thou shalt have 
the drawing. 

PATRON. Well, well, and if it be not ready in an hour, 
ril have my five shillings back, that I will. 

MARGARET. [Hustling him out.] I promise thee. 
[Turns to Holbein.] Five shillings he gave thee ? 

22 



HOLBEIN. Aye, and I've a mind to go after him and 
give them back. 

MARGARET. Thou'lt not. Thou'lt draw the design and 
give me the shilHngs. Come, give them up, I say. 

HOLBEIN. [Fishes out the shillings and hands them over.] 
Thou'rt too hard, Meg, too hard altogether. How 
shall I find time, think'st thou, to do all this? 

MARGARET. In half an hour the light will fail thee 
for painting. Thou canst draw the stove under the 
candle. 

HOLBEIN. Slave-driver! Ah well, ah well. 

MARGARET. Tell me now, thou wert saying something 
of this Princess Ann of Cleves.? 

HOLBEIN. That I was, and there's much to be said. 
Harkee, lass, she's a lady that would — [A knock 
at the door.] Hush, that will be my Lord Cromwell 
surely. [Margaret opens the door. The first Old Gen- 
tleman enters.] 

MARGARET. Thou again; and what has brought thee 
back.? 

FIRST OLD GENTLEMAN. A trick, a beggarly trick! 
Lookee, Master Hans Holbein, thou hast put upon me 
by reason of my short sight, and the failure of my 
spectacles. This fifth print in the Dance of Death is 
foxed and wrinkled and done upon most vile paper! 

MARGARET. Go to! How ate we to know thou hast 
not changed it at some print-sellers'.? 

OLD GENTLEMAN. Wha' — wha' sayest thou? I, I a 
librarian of the King, I — I to change a print? 

HOLBEIN. Hold thy peace, Meg. Give the gentleman 
the portfolio. Let him choose one for himself. 

23 



MARGARET. [Taking down the portfolio.] He ought to 
be glad of his first bargain. 

HOLBEIN. Nay. lass, let him be content. 

OLD GENTLEMAN. [Selects a print, looks at it closely, 
chuckles, and tucks it under his arm.] Thankee, Master 
Holbein, thankee. A perfect set — and a marvellous 
bargain. Aha! [Exit Old Gentleman.] 

MARGARET. As thou wcrt saying about the Princess 
Ann of Cleves — 

HOLBEIN. The Princess Ann of Cleves is — well, she is — 
let me think how to put it to thee — [Enter Mistress 
Chepster.] 

MISTRESS CHEPSTER. Meg, Meg, there's a file of pike- 
men going by in the street. Thou canst see them from 
my window. [The King emits a bored groan, and settles 
down in the chair.] 

HOLBEIN. What ails thee, Nick Moxon? 

MISTRESS CHEPSTER. [PulUng Megs arm.] Come to 
the windows! They'll be gone by, I tell thee. [The 
King gives a loud snore, and his head sinks on his breast.] 

HOLBEIN. The devil! I never saw him do that before. 

[The King snores again, and his arm falls from the arm 
of the chair, breaking the pose.] 

HOLBEIN. He hath broken the pose. [He tiptoes over 
to the King.] 

MARGARET. [Starting after him.] No, no! [Holbein 
removes the napkin from the Kings face. The King 
does not wake. Holbein starts back to where Margaret 
stands wringing her hands.] 

HOLBEIN. [In a whisper.] Mine eyes, is there aught 
wrong with mine eyes! Who — who is that.? 

24 



MARGARET. [Whimpering.] Nick Moxon went away. 
I was frightened. I fetched a stranger in to take his 
place. I thought it would please thee. 'Tis a man off 
the street. I — I — don't shake me! 

HOLBEIN. Mary in Paradise! 'Tis the King! The 
King himself! 

MARGARET. Art thou mad! 

MISTRESS CHEPSTER. Magic in my house! Black 
witchcraft in mine own house. Nick Moxon changed 
to the likeness of the King. Cover his face, Master 
Holbein, and let us say prayers. Let us say prayers 
against the evil that's come upon us. [Holbein tiptoes 
over tozvard the King, and is about to put the napkin 
back, when the King gives a loud snort and wakes him- 
self up.] 

KING. Eh! Ah! Where am I.? What's the time? 

MISTRESS CHEPSTER. Oh, God save and forgive us, 
'tis the living King himself. Oh, your Gracious Maj- 
esty! Oh, oh, oh! [She falls on her knees.] 

KING. [To Mistress Chepster.] Get up off thy knees, 
woman. I'll not eat thee. [To Margaret] Come, lass, 
don't stand there gaping at me. I'm not a poppet 
show. Well, why doesn't somebody say something. 
Have ye all turned to stone? 

HOLBEIN. Nay, sire, but no one knows what to say to 
thee. 

KING. Well, Master Hans Holbein, I may as well tell 
thee it straight out. I came here with a purpose. 
Thou hast painted a portrait of the Lady Ann of Cleves. 
I must see it. 

HOLBEIN. I regret, sire, I have it not. It was taken 
this morning by my Lord Cromwell, at whose order 
I have done it. 

25 



KING. So ho! That's the cry is it. Sit down all of 
ye, sit down! There'll be much talking amongst us 
before I get to the bottom of this. 

HOLBEIN. I was not in the house when my lord took 
away the picture, but doubtless he was impatient to 
carry it at once to thy gracious Majesty. 

KING. Was he so.? I have a shrewd suspicion not, 
Master Hans. I have had information, I may say. 
I'll wager thee now, my Lord Cromwell is none too 
anxious that I see thy portrait to-day, Master Hans. 
That's why I'm here, man, to see for myself, with mine 
own eyes, before he gets a chance to play me any more 
of his tricks. 

HOLBEIN. I do not understand. I have done only 
what is right and honest. The picture is ordered by my 
Lord Cromwell. It is finished. He hath sent for it. 
It is gone. I cannot conjure it back. 

KING. Oh, yes, yes! That's all very well! If it is gone, 

it is gone and not thy fault, I daresay. But tell me, 

Master Holbein, what sort of a woman is this Ger- 
man princess. 

HOLBEIN. [To Meg] Meg! Meg! Was it his Majesty 
that put thee up to asking me the same question awhile 



smce 



MARGARET. How was I to know who he was .? I meant 
no harm. I swear I didn't. He might have been 
honest with me. 

KING. 'Twas a bargain between us: I to sit in place 
of thy model and Meg to ask thee a simple question. 
No harm meant by either of us, I give thee my word. 

MARGARET. [Snivelling] I'm sure I did my best to 
serve the both of ye. I asked the question three times. 

26 



KING. [Again afraid of her tears] There! There! 

I know thou didst, but the cursed interruptions! What 

with old men with squeally voices— talking of stoves 

and Dances of Death and what not, and the heat of 

the room, I became that bored, I fear me I near fell 

asleep. 

MARGARET. And was that my fault or Master Holbein's, 

let me ask? 

MISTRESS CHEPSTER. Meg! Meg! Lord have mercy! 

What a girl! 

KING. [To Mistress Chepster] Let her run on. I'm 

that used to women fussing and fuming that I don t 

heed her at all. By-the-by now. Mistress What's-thy- 

name? Thou'rt a sensible English woman. Thou 

hast seen this portrait. What saist thou of the lady s 

beauty? 

MISTRESS CHEPSTER. I— I— I never saw the portrait, 

sire. Never clapped my eyes on the face of it, so help 

me God! 

KING. Never saw it! Never saw it! When it was 

done in thy own house, and thou a woman? 

MISTRESS CHEPSTER. Master Holbein is most par- 
ticular against any but himself seeing the face of a 
picture till it hath had what he calls the last touch. 

KING. But I warrant the lass here hath had her look. 
Come Mistress Meg, what hast thou to say? 

MARGARET. What would I be doing, to look at it against 
Master Holbein's expressed orders. 

KING. Confound ye all! Come, Master Hans, I ask 
thee once more, tell me what this German princess 
hath amiss with her that ye must all keep so mum 
about her. 

HOLBEIN. Oh, sire, it is not that the least thing is amiss. 

27 



KING. Then describe her to me at once. 

HOLBEIN. My brush is ever more ready than my 
tongue. My Lord Cromwell hath the only true descrip- 
tion. 

KING. Damn it all, Til not be played with in this 
fashion. Do you think I believe one word of what yeVe 
been telling me.? each and all of ye? I thought to get 
honest fair treatment from honest plain people; and 
what's the result.? I find you're as bad as my own 
courtiers. Can I get nothing in England the way 
I want it f 

HOLBEIN. But his Majesty hath only to give his in- 
structions. 

KING. Hath he so? Look ye now. A king is in a bad 
way to get what he wants in this world if his ministers 
are of contrary mind. It's right seldom I have my own 
way. 

MISTRESS c. To think of thee not having aught thou 
wantest and thou with silks and satins and velvets 
on thee seven days in the week. 

KING. Oh, aye, but some of what I have to wear on 
me is damned uncomfortable too, for all the fine names 
they have. Now, Holbein, as man to man, wilt thou 
thou do me a service? 

HOLBEIN. I am at your Majesty's service. 

KING. I know — I know — but that does not answer me. 
Let me open the matter fully. Thou hast made a 
portrait of a princess in Germany — so much is ad- 
mitted. Holbein — hast thou a wife? 

HOLBEIN. Aye — God preserve me! 

KING. A German wife? 

HOLBEIN. Aye. 

KING. Where is she ? 

28 



HOLBEIN. Happily, sire, she is in Germany. 

KING. I begin to see a light. Thou art content that 
she remain in Germany, so long as thou dost not. 
She's an excellent woman, no doubt. 

HOLBEIN. No doubt of it, sire — but I can not be con- 
tent in the same province with her. 

KING. She's a German woman, I take it, well past 
her girlhood, eh.? Not too well favoured, eh? 

HOLBEIN. Even so, sire. 

KING. Now, Holbein, follow me well. Thou knowest 
what it is to have a German wife of these years and 
favour. What of me.? My chancellor, thy patron 
Cromwell, is set on bringing me such a wife, and lookee, 
once I get her, I must even stay in the same province 
with her. 

HOLBEIN. My heart bleeds for thee, sire. 

KING. Ah! Then this Anne of Cleves is all I have 
pictured her! She is — 

HOLBEIN. I have not spoken of her, sire. 

KING. Thou'st told me, plain enough. Out with it 
now. This picture Cromwell hath — is it honest? Is 
it like the woman? 

HOLBEIN. I have done mine endeavour, sire. 

KING. Let that pass. Thou seest my straits, Holbein. 
The truth, now, as a man. 

HOLBEIN. But my Lord Cromwell is my patron — 

KING. So. I'll promise thee only this: thou shalt 
suffer naught from him. Think of thy wife. Think of 
this Anne of Cleves. Think of me — and tell me the 
matter right out. 

29 



HOLBEIN. As I live, sire, I will. My Lord Cromwell 
took with him the wrong portrait. Here is the lady 
Anne of Cleves. [Unveils picture.] 

KING. Mary Mother of Heaven! 



HOLBEIN. It is as true, sire, as any hand in the world 
could draw it. 

KING. And me to be wed to that, and never a word to 
say for myself. Ah, I'm the unluckiest wretch in 
England, what with ministers and marriages. What 
an eye she hath — and a mouth like a rift in a wall. 
Now let Cromwell look to himself. It is as I thought. 
And if this be less than high treason — [There is a 
loud knock.] 

CROMWELL. [Outside] Holbein, Holbein, thou rascal! 

HOLBEIN. My Lord Cromwell's voice. 

KING. Cover this calamity! [Holbein covers the picture.] 
[Enter Cromwell.] 

CROMWELL. Holbein, he's coming here — [Sees the 
King.] Sire! I have made haste, sire, that this painter- 
man might make ready for this honour. I regret that 
I have been too late. 

KING. Far from it, my lord. Thou art in time. 

CROMWELL. I have with me the portrait of the princess. 

KING. Ah, thou hast it with thee, eh.? 

CROMWELL. Aye, and a most excellent work it is. 
I do commend Master Holbein to thee, sire, for a painter 
of honest worth — even as in this he doth commend the 
beauty of the Princess of Cleves. [He unveils the 
portrait of Meg.] 

KING. So this is the lady, eh ? 

CROMWELL. Yes, sire. 

30 



KING. It's bonny enough, but somehow it seems I 
have beheld that face afore. 

CROMWELL. I know not how, your Majesty, unless in 
the foreknowledge of dreams — 

KING. Nay, in the life. Come hither, Meg. 

CROMWELL. [Stepping between King and Meg.] Sire, 
I beseech thee — 

KING. [Haling Meg out and standing her by the picture.] 
A painter of honest worth, truly. [He unveils the 
portrait of Anne of Cleves.] And now, my Lord Crom- 
well, tell me who is this lady? 

CROMWELL. This lady, sire — ah, Master Hans, this is 
a strange trick thou hast played us — a stocks and rack 
and gallows trick — this lady, sire, is an excellent woman 
in Germany — she is Master Holbein's wife. 

HOLBEIN. Now this is too much! I do what I can for 
thee, my lord. I give thee what I have, and I serve 
thee faithfully. But my wife, even though I cannot 
live in the same province with her — I will not have 
my wife so slandered. No. 

KING. Bravo, Hans. By Heaven, I make thee court 
painter of England for this! 

CROMWELL. Sire, this fellow hath tricked me most 
vilely, most unscrupulously — 

KING. And thou, my lord, how hast thou tricked me? 
This is the lady thou hast chosen for me, eh? Tell 
me now, straight out, how far hast thou gone in this 
business? 

CROMWELL. Sire, this portrait — 

KING. Answer me, sirrah. 

CROMWELL. The envoys have gone, sire. The State 
is bound to this marriage. 

31 



KING. This lies close to the edge of high treason, 
Thomas Cromwell. I have long suspected thy German 
bargains and alliances. Bring this woman to me, and 
I will put her away. I will not see her. And thou* — 
look to thine honours and thine offices. B egone ! [Crom- 
well starts to go out; Mistress Chepster runs after him.] 

MISTRESS CHEPSTER. Thy three pounds, my lord, 
for the safe return of the picture. 

[Cromwell, with a despairing gesture swings out past 
her. The King seats himself in the model's throne.] 

KING. God-a-mercy, what a day! [He picks up the 
flagon.) 

HOLBEIN. And now, sire, for the portrait! 

CURT J IN 



32 



Jl^^ I TRRflRY OF CONGRESS 

liii 



